


CSI: Chaotic

by fhsa_archivist



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, CSI: Miami
Genre: Crossover, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-11
Updated: 2006-02-11
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12799137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: When there's nothing left for him in Miami except broken friendships, an ex-boyfriend, and painful memories, Ryan starts a new life in Las Vegas.





	1. Chapter 1  Hired

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

The attraction was instantaneous. Their paths crossed in the hallway, their eyes met, and for a moment, the overwhelming chaos surrounding him seemed to disappear. For a single moment, he wasn't anxious about his job interview, he wasn't self-conscious of the scar over his eye or the way he'd obviously overdressed for his interview. He was pinned to the spot by the expression on the stranger's face, curiosity instead of discomfort, attraction instead of disgust. No one had looked at him like that since he'd first started dating Jeff. He was rooted to the spot.

 

A protesting suspect distracted him for a split second, and when he turned back, the stranger was gone. It happened so quickly that Ryan wondered if he hadn't imagined it. Squaring his shoulders determinedly, he set out to finish the task he'd begun: find the office where he was to be interviewed.

 

He was still half looking for the stranger whose eyes he'd met when he heard Dr. Grissom's name spoken by someone in the hallway. Honing his focus toward where he'd heard the voice, he managed to identify the speaker, a man who, at first glance, Ryan could only describe as tall, dark, and handsome. A beautiful cliche in a city more cliche than Miami.

 

Ryan lengthened his stride to catch up with them, presumably CSI and boss, easily identified by the vest on the first man and the way the second man - slightly shorter, a little wider, his hair grayer - had been addressed by the first. Ryan noted that the first man used only Dr. Grissom's last name - Grissom - unlike the way the CSIs in Miami called Horatio by his first name.

 

Had called Horatio by his first name. Ryan wasn't in Miami anymore, and he couldn't let himself get into the habit of comparing Las Vegas to Miami. He'd been in the city for a week, having gotten settled into a hotel room with the money he'd saved up, and he was ready to start a new life in a new place with no bad memories. It would be the same job; he wasn't ready to give that up. But it was a new start, and he had to get used to the fact that he was in Las Vegas now. Not Miami.

 

The interview wasn't an interview. It was chaos. There were five people in Grissom's office, each discussing a different case, and Grissom was taking it all in stride, answering each of them in turn and directing each in a different course of action. In the middle of all the chaos, he stood and shook Ryan's hand, saying, "You must be Ryan."

 

"Yes sir," he said nervously, letting his hand drop by his side when Grissom took his hand away. "Ryan Wolfe, I'm here for the uh, the job interview."

 

Grissom smiled kindly at him and opened his mouth to say something, then tilted his head when someone else entered the office. Ryan glanced behind him to find that the man who'd been talking to Dr. Grissom earlier was now in the room. "Warrick, this is Ryan," Grissom said, and Warrick nodded knowingly. Ryan kept quiet, well aware that he was being scrutinized by everyone in his range of vision, and further. So far, no one had said anything about his scar, and there had been very few strange looks. "Could you show him around?"

 

"No problem," Warrick said with a friendly smile, motioning to Ryan to join him. Confused, Ryan crossed the room to shake Warrick's hand, but he didn't stop looking at Grissom.

 

"I thought - today was the interview, right?" he asked, wondering how he'd gotten the time wrong. An amused silence closed in around him, and it almost felt like being in the hospital again.

 

"You're hired. Warrick's going to show you where human resources is and help you take care of all the paperwork." Grissom smiled and looked down at his desk, studying something in a petri dish. Ryan turned to join Warrick, stopping when he heard Grissom speak again. "Oh, Warrick, make sure he gives his samples to Greg."

 

Ryan's blood ran cold at the chuckle Warrick shared with everyone else in the office. "Samples?" Ryan asked, turning to face Grissom, then fumbled to catch whatever it was Grissom had just tossed at him. It was a specimen jar. Ryan blinked.

 

"Don't worry," Warrick said cheerfully, clapping a jovial hand on Ryan's shoulder. "He does that to everyone."

 

"Uh," Ryan said intelligently. Warrick just laughed again and led them into the corridor, supposedly toward human resources, then stopped and waved over a blonde woman.

 

"Cath, this is Ryan Wolfe. Ryan, this is Catherine Willows. You'll be working with her if you stick around."

 

Ryan studied the two of them, noting the warmth in the way they looked at each other, Warrick's hand on Cath's upper arm. There was a ring on his finger, but not hers. Theirs was obviously unrequited love, or at the very least, lust. "Nice to meet you."

 

Cath took his offered hand, her eyes dropping immediately to the specimen jar in his hand. Well, at least she wasn't staring at his scar. "So you're the new guy, huh?" she asked, and he nodded. He had a feeling he'd be known by that moniker for quite a while. It would probably take him at least that long to figure out why Grissom had hired him so quickly - and why he needed to provide a specimen. "Good luck," she said, and Ryan couldn't tell if she meant it.

 

"Thanks," he managed, his voice trailing off as she walked away. He couldn't help but notice the way Warrick's gaze lingered after her, and he suddenly felt uncomfortable. "So uh, human resources?"

 

***

 

He'd interviewed for the graveyard shift, the opposite of what he was used to working in Miami. Everything had to be different now; he couldn't let himself confuse his new life with his old one. He wasn't a green CSI anymore. He couldn't make the same mistakes anymore, mistakes like the one that had left him with an ugly scar on his left eye and his vision partially impaired.

 

The doctors said the nail hadn't come in contact with any of the essential nerves, so he shouldn't have had any vision loss. Which meant that they all assumed it was psychological, but if it was, why hadn't he lost all his vision? Ryan wasn't a doctor, so he didn't know the answers. All he knew was that he had to get on with his life, and he had to do it away from Miami and the ex-boyfriend who couldn't even look at his face anymore.

 

"Good, you got your specimen," Warrick said, far too cheerful for someone discussing a coworker's urine. Ryan made a face, and Warrick laughed in that low chuckle Ryan was already getting used to. "Cmon, I'll show you Greg's lab." Warrick went on to explain who Greg was, even though Ryan hadn't asked. "If you'd gotten here about seven months ago, I would've had to warn you about his music. He hasn't been the same since it happened, though."

 

"Since what happened?" he couldn't help asking, even though he knew it wasn't any of his business. Warrick didn't seem offended, though. Instead, he took Ryan aside, stepping into the nearly empty locker room where the foot traffic was nonexistant.

 

"I don't know if you heard about it in Miami, but about seven months ago, one of our CSIs was kidnapped. He." Warrick closed his eyes briefly, then looked at Ryan and shook his head. "He spent twenty hours buried alive and it was broadcast to the web."

 

"Damn," Ryan muttered. He remembered the case; it had been all over the news. "That was Greg?"

 

Warrick shook his head. "It was Nick. Nick Stokes. He's a CSI, but he's also a friend. We're a pretty close-knit group," Warrick explained, and Ryan nodded soberly. He didn't know what he'd done to earn this kind of disclosure so early in the game, but then, he still didn't know why he'd been hired so quickly. He wouldn't take it lightly, though. He knew that the ordeal CSI Stokes had been through had to be even harder on him than getting shot with a nailgun was on Ryan. Ashamed that he could even compare what had happened to him to what had happened to CSI Stokes, Ryan dropped his eyes, looking up when Warrick clapped him on the shoulder again.

 

"Is everyone this close?" He had to ask, because he wasn't used to people touching him so freely, especially so soon after meeting him. Warrick seemed to realize that he was talking about the hand on his shoulder rather than CSI Stokes, because he dropped his hand and apologized. "No, it's okay. I don't mind. It's just..." Did he really want to come out so soon? Was it worth the risk? Was it a risk not finding out right away how his new coworkers would react to his orientation? "I'm not used to this. And I probably read a little too much into it." Okay, that wasn't coming out. It was safe. He'd been safe.

 

Warrick nodded understandingly, but he didn't touch Ryan's shoulder again. "Yeah, we're all pretty close here. Kinda have to be to deal with the things we see every night. So I'm not coming onto you or anythin'," he qualified with a nervous laugh. Ryan had to hide a smile.

 

"I didn't think you were," he reassured Warrick, letting his smile out when Warrick looked relieved. "I saw the wedding ring." He figured it was probably better not to mention the warmth he'd noticed between Warrick and Cath. It was too soon to be speculating on a relationship between a married CSI and an unmarried coworker. "It's no big deal. I was just trying to figure out what to expect when I meet the other CSIs."

 

Ryan couldn't believe how well he was holding it together. In the course of a few hours, he'd participated in a non-interview, been hired on sight, met some of his new coworkers, and peed into a cup to give to someone he hadn't even met yet. And now he was discussing touching with a coworker who was married but didn't think anything of touching a new coworker as if they'd been friends for years. Ryan kind of liked it. He felt more welcome than he'd felt in Miami, and on the very first day. And even though Warrick obviously couldn't miss the scar on Ryan's face, he acted like he hadn't even noticed it.

 

Warrick nodded thoughtfully. "Probably expect it from Nick if he gets to know you, but not anyone else. Sara and Grissom pretty much keep to themselves, and Greg's too busy trying to prove himself to have any friends."

 

"Prove himself?" Ryan asked. He remembered the feeling when Horatio had surprised him by hiring him right away. The other CSIs were suspicious of him from the start, and he'd walked in from the street, still in his officer's uniform when Horatio had hired him. Not only had he been new, but he'd been crossing the line that wasn't crossed. There was an unspoken rivalry between police officers and CSIs, and Ryan had walked right into enemy territory.

 

"Yeah. You're giving him your sample because he still does tech work part time, but he's mostly a CSI now."

 

"Really? What kind of tech work?"

 

"Pretty much everything," Warrick said with a shrug. "He was our main DNA guy before he decided to be a CSI."

 

"DNA?" Ryan shook his head. "He went from DNA to CSI? Isn't that a pay cut?"

 

"Yeah," Warrick said with a half grin. "But he was determined."

 

He had to be, Ryan knew. A guy had to be determined to go from a cushy job inside the crime lab, with better pay and better company, to the more gruelling job of investigating crime scenes and dealing with suspects, putting himself in danger, and getting a paycut. Ryan wondered if it had anything to do with what had happened to CSI Stokes, but he didn't ask. That was personal, like Ryan's decision to leave Miami. It wasn't Ryan's place to ask.

 

"Can I ask why he needs my urine?" he asked instead. "I already took a drug test."

 

Warrick laughed and shook his head. "Grissom's always doing experiments with biological samples. Doesn't matter who they're from as long as he gets them," Warrick explained. Ryan smiled in amusement.

 

"So I didn't do anything wrong."

 

"No," Warrick said with a friendly chuckle, lifting his hand to Ryan's upper back. "Come on, I'll show you where Greg's lab is and we can get this over with." He looked at his watch, then back at Ryan. "Graveyard shift's over an hour ago. After this you should go home and get some sleep. Your first night won't be easy," he continued as they walked through the corridors. "We all get tested, but if Grissom hired you, you should do fine." Warrick's smile dulled a little, but he patted Ryan's back encouragingly, taking him the rest of the way to Greg's lab in silence.

 

On the way, Ryan spotted the stranger he'd locked eyes with before. He stopped right where he was standing, sending Warrick stumbling to a stop in front of him. It took him a few seconds to hear Warrick's voice asking if he was okay. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said distractedly. Should he ask who it was, or would that be too obvious? He hadn't outed himself yet, and he didn't want to make any rash statements so soon. "Sorry," he said, forcing himself to remember the specimen cup in his hand. "Where's Greg's lab?"

 

Warrick smiled widely, the skin around his eyes crinkling in amusement. "You're lookin' at it."

 

***

Ryan was frozen where he stood for the third time that day, only this time he knew the name of the man responsible. Greg. Greg was the one who'd looked at him kindly and curiously, chemistry sparking between them in the moments before he disappeared. Greg, the former main DNA guy who'd been determined to become a CSI, who used to play music that Warrick felt he had to warn newcomers about but didn't anymore because Greg hadn't been the same since CSI Stokes was kidnapped and buried alive.

 

He knew a lot about Greg already and Greg knew nothing about him. All Greg would know would be that Ryan was about to hand him a cup of his urine, and then Greg would analyze it or put it aside for Grissom. Talk about a first impression.

 

Ryan didn't even know he was moving until he heard Warrick's footsteps beside him, showing him to the doorway of Greg's lab. The walls were made of glass like all the other rooms in the crime lab, but unlike the other walls, these were covered with chemical formulas and logic diagrams and who knew what else. Greg hadn't spotted him yet; he was spraying one of the walls with cleaner, wiping away whatever he'd been working on and starting anew. Ryan wondered if it was because he'd been in the field more than the lab, and needed to think through what he was doing. That would mean Greg was a visual thinker. Ryan liked that.

 

"I thought you were done for the day," Greg said dully, his tone nothing like Ryan would've expected after the intense look they'd shared. Warrick didn't seem fazed, though. He just shook his head, stepping forward to lean against one of the instruments. Greg suddenly whipped around, glaring at Warrick. "How many times-" Greg broke off mid-question when he saw Ryan, a flicker of recognition replacing the reproach that had been in his eyes.

 

"I was, but duty calls." Besides the way he stepped away from the instrument, Warrick ignored Greg's question. Ryan wondered if he'd only done that to get Greg's attention. There was a lot more life in Greg's voice the second time, though. Ryan was intrigued.

 

Greg composed himself, setting the cleaner on a table next to some markers and tossing the paper towels in a trash can Ryan couldn't see. As he came closer, Ryan could see a name stitched on the breast pocket of Greg's labcoat: SANDERS. At least, he assumed it was a name. It might be a brand, but a name seemed more likely.

 

"You must be the new guy." Greg's hand shook as he reached for Ryan's specimen cup, which was odd because Greg didn't strike him as a timid kind of guy. He didn't say anything about it, though, too self-conscious of what he was handing over to ask about it. On the one hand, it might have been polite to ask if Greg was okay, but on the other, maybe Greg was okay and he just had some kind of disorder that made his hands shaky. It couldn't happen too often, he reasoned, because someone in a DNA lab had to perform some pretty delicate experiments. If his hands shook all the time, Ryan doubted Greg would have this job.

 

"Yeah." Ryan dropped his hand to his side, standing self-consciously as Greg turned to put his specimen in a small refrigerator. Warrick patted him on the shoulder, offering Ryan a grin before he left the room, leaving Ryan alone in the lab with Greg. Not sure what else to do, he decided to introduce himself. "Ryan, Ryan Wolfe. Everyone knows I'm the new guy," he said with a nervous chuckle.

 

Greg said something he didn't hear, then laughed and turned around to join Ryan again. "Everyone knows everyone here. Sometimes that's a good thing. Sometimes it's not." Greg stopped speaking and looked at Ryan for a long time. So long that Ryan started to get uncomfortable and wondered if Greg even remembered someone else was in the room with him. Then he reanimated, smiling wryly at Ryan. "Greg Sanders."

 

At first Ryan thought it was a question, then he realized Greg was introducing himself. Unfortunately, Ryan couldn't think of anything to say, so he just offered Greg his hand. Then realized Greg was wearing gloves because he was handling sensitive samples he didn't want to contaminate, so Ryan took his hand back.

 

What was he supposed to do now? He should leave, but he didn't want to. He still remembered how strong the spark had been when he'd first seen Greg, and he wanted to recapture that. But Greg was different in the lab; the spark was still there, but it was overpowered by whatever had made Greg's voice dull when he'd first spoken to Warrick.

 

Maybe it had something to do with what Warrick had been telling him. "Warrick told me what happened to your friend," he offered hesitantly. "That had to be hard."

 

Greg stared through him for a minute, then snapped out of it and looked right at Ryan. "It's part of the job," he said flatly, and turned away. "Look, I've got stuff to do."

 

"Warrick said the shift was over an hour ago. Or are you on a different shift?" Ryan was fumbling with his words, worried that he'd said the wrong thing. He was just glad Greg couldn't see the look on his face and know how nervous he was.

 

"Why don't you go ask Warrick?" Greg asked sarcastically.

 

Ryan blinked, shoving his hands in his pockets. He had said the wrong thing. Did Greg's behavior have anything to do with what Warrick had said about Greg trying hard to prove himself? Did he think Ryan respected Warrick more because he was a full-time CSI and Greg wasn't? "I want to ask you," he said uncertainly. "But... if you're busy, I can leave."

 

Greg still didn't face him. "I have to finish."

 

"Grissom's a real slavedriver, huh?" he joked, even though he wasn't sure it was the right move. He was about to backtrack and apologize when Greg turned to look at him.

 

"Not really," Greg said quietly, looking around the room like he was trying to decide what to do next and didn't really feel like doing anything. For the first time, Ryan noticed how exhausted he looked, the slope of his shoulders, the circles under his eyes. Greg must have been working so hard to prove himself. It was also possible that what Warrick had mentioned about Greg's music changing after CSI Stokes had been kidnapped had something to do with it, too. Greg's comment about it being 'part of the job' was suspect. Ryan didn't believe Greg felt that way, even though he'd just met and didn't really know anything about Greg's interactions with his coworkers. He just knew that Greg didn't look like a man who was happy with the way his life was going right now.

 

He knew he should take Warrick's advice about getting some sleep before his first night, but finding company for his misery was more attractive at the moment. "Can I take you out for a drink when you're done?" Ryan did his best not to fidget, part of him afraid that he'd read the signs wrong. But he'd felt that spark and he was sure Greg had, too. He had to take the chance now. Now or never.

 

There was another long moment where Greg stared through him for a while before snapping back and answering him. "I don't drink," he replied, his voice dull again, and Ryan's jaw tightened in defensive disappointment. "But I'll let you take me to a cafe."

 

Relieved, Ryan smiled for the first time since he'd learned Greg's name. "Sure, yeah," he agreed with a nod. "I'll uh, I'll meet you in the locker room, uh, when?"

 

Greg dropped his gaze to the table in front of him. "Half hour," he muttered, then looked up with a different kind of spark in his eyes. "You know where it is?"

 

"Yeah." He cut himself off before he made the mistake of saying that Warrick had shown him where it was. Even though Warrick seemed tolerant and even amused by Greg's behavior, it didn't seem to be reciprocal.

 

Greg nodded and then proceeded to ignore him. Ryan was mystified, but he went to the locker room, tracing his fingers over the masking tape with his name on it. Even though there'd been an obvious spark with Greg, he found himself hoping that he hadn't made a mistake by getting involved.

 

***


	2. Chapter 2  Details

  
Author's notes: They share a common experience.  


* * *

The cafe was part of a small independent bookstore, and though the selection was minimal, the scones were buttery and the coffee rich. Greg sat across from him perusing a science magazine he'd found, scoffing every once in a while and then lifting his coffee mug to his mouth to take a sip.

 

Ryan didn't know what had happened to the man he'd met eyes with in the corridor. He wondered if he'd been mistaken, but at the same time, he didn't think so. Greg was distant and clearly exhausted, but every once in a while Greg looked at him the same way again, curiosity and hunger in his eyes. Ryan was missing something, but he was damned if he could figure out what it was.

 

They were wearing the same clothes they'd had on at the crime lab. Without thinking, Ryan had asked if Greg was going to change before they left, and Greg denied it with a shrug and a shake of his head. Not wanting to make a big deal out of it, he said he wasn't planning on changing his clothes either. "Well, you've only been here a few hours," Greg had pointed out, which only served to emphasize that it was unusual for Greg not to be changing since he'd been there all night. Ryan didn't pursue it, though, knowing that if Greg had wanted him to know, Greg would have said something. Maybe Greg just didn't like changing in front of people. It had been uncomfortable for Ryan at first, changing in public, but once he'd seen how casually other people changed, even his less attractive coworkers, he'd quickly adjusted to the expectation and changed along with everyone else.

 

Ryan observed Greg shamelessly, taking in the subtle waves of his dark brown hair, the sweep of eyelashes across Greg's cheeks when he looked down, which he did a lot. Greg had a beautiful face, defined and full of character, with a splash of small birthmarks on the lower part of the right side of his face. Ryan had always been about the details, and he liked Greg's details. A lot. Greg's quiet mystery only added to the attraction. Ryan was a CSI for a reason, after all. He liked solving puzzles, and Greg Sanders was the most intriguing one he'd met.

 

"I brought my ex here once," Greg said out of nowhere, talking into his magazine. "He thought it was boring."

 

Ryan cocked his head, wondering if this had been a test. Maybe; probably; probably in part, at least. Greg wanted to see if he liked this place. Greg could have taken him anywhere that didn't serve alcohol, and Greg had chosen this little place. And Greg obviously didn't think it was boring, because he came here himself. Ryan didn't think it was boring, either, but he did wish Greg would pay attention to him instead of the magazine. "I like it," Ryan said definitively. It seemed like a nice place to relax, get some quiet and good food and coffee after a long day's work. A night's work, actually, he realized.

 

Greg swallowed another sip of coffee, then looked up at Ryan over his magazine. "I like it too." Greg smiled at him, then closed the magazine and set it down on the table in front of him, pressing hard with his fingertips as he forced it perpendicular to the edge of the table. Ryan watched closely, curious about the action when Greg hadn't shown any signs of compulsive behavior earlier. Ryan had experience with that himself, but medication minimized it and for the most part, it manifested itself in other ways.

 

It struck him that Greg had just told Ryan his ex was a man. So if Ryan had had any doubts about Greg's orientation, which he probably should have since they'd just met, he didn't need to anymore. Greg dated men, and he wanted Ryan to know that he dated men. Maybe he wanted Ryan to know that he wasn't dating anyone now, too. "You seeing anyone now?" Greg shook his head, casting his eyes down at the table again. Whatever the reason, Greg seemed unhappy with the situation. Like maybe it wasn't his choice not to be seeing anyone, and even though he seemed attracted to Ryan, he was acting like he didn't think it was going to happen. He certainly hadn't gone out of his way to endear Ryan to him, but Ryan was sure there was a reason behind it. On impulse, he reached across the table to put his hand over Greg's, an uncharacteristically bold move for him. "It's his loss," Ryan said firmly. He didn't venture to say more, not wanting to badmouth the ex in case Greg missed him, or say the ex was the one responsible in case Greg had been the one to break up with him.

 

Greg didn't pull his hand away, but he didn't acknowledge that it was there, either. He barked out an ironic laugh, lifting his eyes to look at Ryan through his lashes. "He didn't seem to think so," Greg muttered sourly, using his free hand to pick up his coffee cup and take a deep drink. With the way Greg was drinking, Ryan was glad it wasn't alcohol.

 

Maybe that was why Greg had been acting the way he was. Maybe it had as much to do with his ex as it did with what had happened to CSI Stokes. "Well, I happen to think you're a catch," Ryan said with a grin. Greg looked up skeptically.

 

"You don't even know me."

 

Ryan shrugged. "I've been a CSI long enough to know that you don't necessarily know someone any better after ten years than you do after ten minutes. Everyone we apprehend is someone's son or daughter, and more often than not, they're someone's brother or sister or boyfriend or girlfriend or wife or husband or best friend..." The list was a mile long, but Greg would know what he meant.

 

That wasn't what Greg picked up on, though. "Apprehend?" Greg half-smiled. "You used to be a cop, didn't you?"

 

Ryan grinned. "Yeah, in Miami. Up until I finally got to be a CSI."

 

Greg smiled slightly. "I know the feeling." He didn't go on, but Ryan knew he was talking about making the transition from DNA tech to CSI. Ryan didn't mention it, though, because it was something Warrick had told him. He wanted Greg to be the one to tell him about it.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Yeah." Greg glanced down, tracing his fingers over the text on the cover of the magazine. Ryan waited for Greg to decide how much to tell him. When Greg finally looked up at him again, his expression had gone blank, but his eyes were bright with memories. "All my life I wanted to be a scientist. I loved it. The first job I got was for the SFPD - San Francisco," he clarified. "It's a lot faster paced than the other fields I could've gone into. But I guess I did okay because when I applied for Vegas, they offered me twice as much as I was getting in San Fran."

 

Ryan smiled - Greg guessed he did okay. Sounded like he did pretty damn good, and he was modest, too. There were a lot of things to like about Greg. "Sounds like you loved it," he commented, and Greg nodded. "Why'd you wanna be a CSI?" Ryan understood the draw of the job, but it wasn't the ideal occupation for everyone. You needed to be alert, able to concentrate solely on your case and observe all the details. A half-assed effort didn't cut it.

 

The glow that had come into Greg's expression faded, leaving his face blank again. "There was an explosion in the lab," he said dully.

 

Ryan got the feeling that Greg was remembering a lot more than he was showing, but he didn't say anything because that was Greg's business, not his. It had to be hard for Greg to remember something like that, especially if he'd been there. Ryan couldn't think of any other possibility, because if Greg had caused it, he wouldn't be working in Vegas anymore, especially not in the lab. So the explosion had to have affected him in some other way, and he doubted that Greg's participation had been simply investigating the crime scene. That was, if the explosion had been a crime. It might have been an accident.

 

Instinct was to ask if Greg was okay, but common sense showed that Greg was alive and well, in one piece and functional. That didn't mean there weren't emotional scars, though. "Did they ever find out what happened?"

 

Greg smirked. "The official version is that Catherine didn't follow policy by not identifying a volatile liquid she left in the hood. It's public record," Greg informed him. "What they don't tell you is that it's really my fault because I left the hotplate plugged in. I turned it off, but I forgot to unplug it. That thing is always getting turned on accidentally. I should've known better." Greg's expression sobered and he tilted his head to the right, a gesture that seemed almost personal. "Guess I got what was coming to me."

 

"What are you talking about?" Ryan shook his head, stroking his fingers over the back of Greg's hand, a soothing gesture his ex used to use on him. It had always calmed him. "It wasn't your fault. How were you supposed to know it was going to get turned on, or that someone was going to put a volatile liquid in there?" Ryan wasn't sure of the significance of the liquid being volatile, but Greg seemed to think it was important.

 

"You don't understand." Greg looked up, his eyes filled with pain. "That was my lab. I was responsible for it. It was my carelessness that let it happen. Sure, I only played a small part in what happened, but it was just one piece of the puzzle that let it happen. If I'd unplugged it like I was supposed to, it wouldn't have happened."

 

Ryan furrowed his eyebrows, knowing that he couldn't change Greg's mind about blaming himself, at least not right away. "You can't live a life of 'ifs'," he told Greg, something he'd heard from his mother many times. It was all he could offer, for now, but somehow he hoped to show Greg that it wasn't his fault.

 

"I know," Greg said quietly, staring down at Ryan's hand on his. "But I can't change it, either. It's why..." Greg paused for a moment, then looked up. "Never mind."

 

"What?" he couldn't help asking.

 

"I just..." Greg sighed. "It's why my ex left me." Ryan frowned. Greg sighed again when he saw the look on Ryan's face, seeming to resign himself to his fate. "He couldn't look at me anymore. It wasn't... it's not what you think." Greg didn't sound like he thought that what it actually was was any better. "Ryan, I like you. But I just met you and I don't want you to leave."

 

Ryan shook his head. "Unless you're gonna tell me that you blew up the lab on purpose, then I'm not going anywhere." He doubted that was what Greg was going to tell him, though. He hoped.

 

Greg took a deep breath, finally acknowledging Ryan's hand with a touch of his own. He held tightly to Ryan's hand as if afraid Ryan would get up and leave, then stared at Ryan's face for a long time before he said anything. It was almost like he was trying to convince himself. "Okay. I was there when the explosion happened. I had to go to the hospital and I got third degree burns and they had to put cadaver skin on me and even though they did skin grafts it didn't all go away and there are still scars and they're just disgusting." Greg said it all in a rush, his hand tightening on Ryan's so hard he thought he felt his bones cracking.

 

Ryan pulled his hand out of Greg's, quickly covering Greg's hand with his own again when it looked like Greg was regretting his choice to say something. Ryan wasn't going to leave, he just didn't want his hand to be crushed.

 

Greg looked up at him again, and that was when Ryan realized that Greg had been staring at his scar, not his face. Of course. Greg wouldn't have said anything if he didn't think Ryan might understand. Ryan wondered if that had been part of the original attraction, but he brushed off the thought. "I'm sure they're not disgusting," he said quietly, gently holding Greg's hand at Greg's dismissive shrug. Ryan didn't know where the scars were, but they had to prominent enough that they kept Greg from changing at work. It all made sense now. "Hey," he whispered, smiling when Greg looked up tentatively. "I'm still here," he pointed out, smiling at Greg until Greg smiled back.

 

"You are," he said, then his expression fell a little. "But maybe you won't be when you see them."

 

"I'm not planning to go anywhere," he assured Greg. He knew the scars couldn't be beautiful, and maybe they were even disgusting, the way Ryan thought his own scar was, but if he and Greg got involved, he was sure he could look past the scars to the person underneath. After all, Ryan knew what it felt like to be rejected because of a drastic change in his appearance. "You know, my ex broke up with me after I got the scar. He couldn't look me in the eye anymore." Ryan hadn't let himself think about it in detail for a while, but he remembered what it felt like to be looked at like that. "It made him sick."

 

What he got from Greg was a sympathetic nod, and that was all he really needed. They'd been through similar experiences and it was one more thing they could talk about and understand about each other; it deepened the chemistry they already had. "It's been almost two and a half years," Greg said. "How about you?"

 

"Coming up on three months," he remembered. Greg was probably wondering how he'd gotten the scar, and he felt like talking about it, anyway, so he shared. "Suspect shot me with a nail gun when I was checking out a crime scene. I kicked myself a million times for not making sure it was cleared," he added, hoping to remind Greg that he wasn't the only one who'd blamed himself for his scars.

 

"Heh, yeah." Greg shook his head. "One of my coworkers, Sara, was there when the explosion happened. She was outside, so she didn't get hurt as bad, but it really shook her up." Greg smiled slightly, looking half amused and half sad. "She went all kamikaze on us after that, didn't wait for the cops to clear crime scenes, tried to shoot a few suspects. She started-" Greg broke off then, shaking his head. "The rest isn't public record, so I shouldn't say anything. She didn't react well, though."

 

Ryan shook his head. "Doesn't sound like it." He cocked his head at Greg, staring at him for a few minutes before he put money down for a tip. "You wanna check out my hotel room?" he asked before he could change his mind. He didn't usually encourage things to move so fast, but he liked Greg and he wanted to talk in private. Maybe do more than talk. He didn't know yet. He just wanted to have the privacy of a room in case anything happened.

 

Greg stared right back at him, his expression so blank that Ryan had no idea what he was going to say. "Yeah," Greg finally said, sounding determined.

 

"Let's go."

 

***


	3. Chapter 3  Kindred

  
Author's notes: Greg shows Ryan his scars.  


* * *

Ryan went through the motions of settling in, removing his suit jacket and hanging it up in his closet, along with his tie and dress shirt and slacks, all folded carefully before he put them on the hanger, his shoes in place just inside the closet door.

 

Greg was standing by the entrance to the room, the door closed behind him, studying Ryan curiously as he changed. He waited until Ryan was dressed again, wearing a pair of sweat pants and a plain white t-shirt, then stepped away from the door. He toed his shoes off next to the door and kicked them under the table by the television, otherwise completely dressed.

 

"Get comfortable," Ryan offered, going to sit at the foot of the bed. He didn't know where they were going to go from here, wasn't sure what Greg wanted or even what he wanted. He just wanted Greg to be here.

 

Greg looked around the room, as if he couldn't really believe he was there. He'd said it had been two and a half years for him; two and a half years since his boyfriend had broken up with him after seeing Greg's scars. That was a long time not to be in relationship, or even not to have sex. And even though Ryan was apprehensive about how he'd react, he was curious to see those scars for himself.

 

Greg finally moved. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, the only additional article of clothing he'd put on in the locker room, and arranged it carefully on the back of the chair by the table. Ryan was starting to get the feeling that Greg's careful actions weren't compulsion so much as they were delay tactics, meant to give him time to work up the nerve to do or say something.

 

Since his back was to Ryan, at first he could only see that Greg's elbow and shoulder were moving. It wasn't until the tie came off that Ryan realized what was happening, and Greg draped his tie over the back of the chair, turning to face Ryan as he unbuttoned the collar of his dress shirt, his actions slow and deliberate. Ryan braced his hands on the edge of the mattress and swallowed, not sure where Greg's actions were leading. He wanted to know, but he didn't want to make any assumptions, either.

 

"Are you sure you want to see?"

 

Ryan blinked, letting Greg's words sink in before he realized what Greg was asking him. Greg was going to show him his scars. Ryan nodded, feeling a little light-headed until he recognized that he was holding his breath. He quickly remedied that by breathing in.

 

Another unfastened button revealed the collar of Greg's t-shirt. It was white, like Ryan's, an undershirt like Ryan wore under his dress shirts. Ryan relaxed a little. Then Greg turned. A pale pink scar stood out on the right side of his neck, previously hidden by the collar of Greg's dress shirt and suit jacket. Ryan let out a breath. It wasn't that bad.

 

Once he'd shouldered out of his dress shirt, Greg draped it over the back of the chair, on top of his jacket and tie. Besides the scar on his neck, nothing new had been revealed. The scar stopped about an inch below his jawbone, then sloped down his neck, disappearing into the collar of Greg's t-shirt. Greg looked at Ryan, his expression blank, but Ryan was sure he was nervous as hell.

 

"No one's seen these but me for over two years," Greg said quietly. "They're not pretty."

 

Ryan nodded, folding his hands in his lap. He hoped he'd be able to look at them without showing any surprise or disgust. He didn't want Greg to have to see his face the way Jeff's had looked when he'd seen Ryan in the hospital.

 

Ryan didn't blame Jeff. He knew the scar was hard to look at; he had trouble looking at it himself. He just wished Jeff had given it more of a chance.

 

First Greg untucked his t-shirt, then carelessly tossed it on the table. With Greg facing him, Ryan couldn't see any additional scars; it wasn't until Greg turned around slowly that Ryan saw the extent of the damage to Greg's back.

 

The entire right side of his back was scarred, from his neck to his shoulder, the textured skin tapering away from his spine as it moved lower, coming almost to a point that curved over Greg's hip. The bottom of the scar was hidden by Greg's pants, but he didn't remove them, probably thinking that this was more than enough for now. Ryan was ashamed to find that he was relieved.

 

"That had to hurt," he blurted out, not ready to comment on how the scars looked. Greg's shoulders shook, and at first, Ryan was afraid he'd made Greg cry.

 

But when Greg turned around, he was laughing silently, the shallowest of laugh lines creasing his forehead. Greg must still be young, he thought, to not have lines on his face the way the rest of Ryan's coworkers and ex-coworkers did. Either that, or he never laughed or smiled or frowned. Remembering how dull Greg's voice had been and the lack of expression that had been on his face, Ryan had a feeling it was the latter. Had the explosion and the scars made him so numb, even after over two years?

 

"No kidding," Greg answered with a grin, shaking his head at Ryan. He came to sit down by Ryan on the edge of the bed, his right side closest to Ryan's. "Actually, it hurt most at the very beginning. They're third-degree burns, so there was a lot of nerve damage. I couldn't feel much of anything for a while."

 

Greg wasn't babbling the way he had when he'd told Ryan about the scars in the cafe, but Ryan could practically feel Greg's racing pulse. "Can you feel anything now?"

 

"Yes and no," Greg replied. "For the most part, I can't feel much at all. But around the edges-" Greg lifted his right hand to the side of his neck, tracing the edge of the scar there and shivering a little. "It's really sensitive." Greg took a deep breath. "No one but me's touched them since the doctors."

 

Ryan squeezed his lips together, trying to figure out if that was a hint. Probably not; Greg probably didn't think anyone would take that hint, no matter how obvious he was. Ryan leaned back to get a better look at the scars; pink in some places, darker red in others, a lot more textured than Ryan had expected. Greg was right; they weren't pretty. But looking at them didn't make Ryan want to run away, either.

 

"Can I?" he asked hesitantly, lifting his hand at Greg's jerky nod. Greg probably hadn't thought he was going to say anything.

 

The scars felt alien against his fingertips, but after a few seconds, he grew bolder. He glanced up at Greg's face, trying to determine if Greg could feel his touch or not. There was no reaction. Ryan looked at his fingers again, letting them slip from the center of the massive scar to the edge, eliciting a shudder from Greg. He drew his hand away quickly, not wanting to hurt Greg.

 

"No, it's okay," Greg breathed, his voice a little shaky. "It feels good."

 

Ryan licked his lips, trying to imagine how it felt. He couldn't imagine, but he could touch, so he did, inspiring another shiver from the man next to him. Ryan's vision focused a little better as he trailed his fingers along the edge of Greg's scars, from his neck to his spine to the waistband of his pants. Then he trailed his fingers upward again, his eyes dropping partially closed as Greg leaned back into his touch. He'd never thought something that looked so painful could be so sensual.

 

Greg looked at Ryan over his shoulder, licking his lips nervously. Ryan wondered if he wanted more, or if he was having second thoughts. "What time is it?" Greg sounded a little disoriented, his breathing shallow. Ryan flattened his hand midway down Greg's back, abandoning the light touches for something more steady.

 

Ryan looked at the clock on the bedside table. "Almost three," he replied, surprised by how late it had gotten. When did they need to be at work? Midnight?

 

"Damn," Greg muttered, and offered Ryan a slight smile. "We better get some sleep if we don't wanna be zombies tonight."

 

"Yeah," Ryan agreed with a slight chuckle, relieved by Greg's 'we'. "Wanna try out my bed?"

 

"Sure," Greg said with a smile, then lowered his eyes. "Just sleep for now, though."

 

"Of course." Ryan got up to pull down the sheets, glancing down the bed at Greg. "How do you sleep?"

 

"In my boxers, usually." Greg looked up again. "That wouldn't bother you?"

 

Ryan shook his head. "That's fine."

 

They both stripped down to their boxers, then climbed into bed together, shifting around each other awkwardly until they ended up chest to chest, their arms and legs tangled together. It wasn't often that Ryan got into bed with someone he'd just met, and even less often that he got into bed with someone without planning to have sex or without having already had sex, but he already felt so comfortable with Greg. He didn't usually believe in that kind of thing, but it felt like he and Greg were kindred spirits.

 

Maybe sometimes, when you'd been through something so traumatic, the usual formalities didn't apply. Maybe just a look was enough to bring two people together.

 

***


	4. Chapter 4  Asymmetry

  
Author's notes: Ryan likes Greg's asymmetry.  


* * *

Waking up was like flipping a switch. One moment, he was deep in sleep, and the next, he was completely alert. Waking up had always been easy and instantaneous for Ryan. It was extremely beneficial to his punctuality.

 

Unfortunately, it also meant he immediately noticed the wrinkles in the sheets under his body just as much as he noticed the solid feeling of having Greg in his arms. No amount of concentration would allow him to ignore the former so he could appreciate the latter, so Ryan dropped a kiss on Greg's lips, then crawled out of bed.

 

They hadn't kissed this morning, but it felt right, and it felt okay. No reason to think that Greg would be upset.

 

He couldn't smooth the sheets while Greg was still in bed, so he pulled up the empty chair to the side of the bed, cradling his head on his arms as he watched Greg sleep.

 

Greg woke more slowly, eventually opening his eyes. "You're still here," he murmured, dragging himself across the bed to get closer. Ryan suppressed a grimace at the thought of the new wrinkles being made.

 

"Well... I am paying for the room," Ryan pointed out, acting like Greg hadn't noticed any unusual look on his face because Greg wasn't acting like he'd noticed.

 

Greg smiled, a sleepy, lopsided smile Ryan instantly fell in love with. "I'm still here."

 

"You are." Ryan shifted to ease the strain on his back from the awkward position, then rearranged himself, the edges of the mattress aligning under his armpits. "Sleep okay?"

 

Greg nodded sleepily, looking more content than anything else. Dark circles still lingered under his eyes, but Ryan knew those wouldn't go away in one day. It would be a while. He still thought Greg was beautiful, though. Greg and his details, the moles speckling his lower right cheek, one off-center on the lower right side of Greg's chin. Ryan liked symmetry, but he liked asymmetry too if it was the right kind. He could never really explain it, even to himself; but he knew that he liked Greg's asymmetry. It was the right kind.

 

"Haven't slept this well in a long time."

 

Ryan smiled sympathetically. "Two and a half years?"

 

"Just about." Greg stared at him thoughtfully, consideration and planning in that simple look, so much so that when Greg's hand came up to cup the back of his neck and gently pull him closer, Ryan was ready for it. "Why aren't you in bed?" he asked, as if they'd been sharing a bed for years instead of one day. It felt that natural.

 

"Wrinkles in the sheets," he found himself saying, not even bothering to hide one of the quirks that made his partners look at him crooked. There was no reason to hide it from Greg.

 

Greg grimaced a bit, and it looked like a sudden effort for him to stay still. "Don't say that."

 

Ryan blinked in surprise. "You're OCD too?"

 

Greg shook his head, but he was smiling. "No," he answered, looking like he was going to say more, but then he scurried out of bed, running his hands over his body like he was brushing off dust.

 

"Suggestive?"

 

Greg quirked an eyebrow, grinning amusedly. "Yeah, but I'm usually the one making the suggestions," he said with a wink. Growing slightly more serious, he started smoothing the sheets on the right side of the bed, smiling when Ryan did the same on the left side. They were working in tandem, working as a team. "No, it's just, after the explosion, I spent so much time in that hospital bed, then in bed at home. Before it had never bothered me, but when you spend all day and all night without getting out of bed, you start to notice all the details."

 

Ryan had always noticed the details. He nodded anyhow, because he remembered how much worse it had been in the hospital.

 

"Warrick took care of me," Greg continued, surprising Ryan into pausing in smoothing down the sheet. Greg seemed to interpret Ryan's pause as having completed his side, because he reached for the blankets to pull them up and make the bed. Realizing that all but the most minute wrinkles were gone, Ryan followed Greg's lead. So strange, but so right, to be making his bed with the man he'd met this morning. "I kinda fell in love with him then, but he was straight. Well, is. Was, is, sexuality is fluid but some people are always straight," Greg concluded with a smile. "He never made me feel like I'd done something wrong by admitting it to him, though. It kinda came out one day when I was doped up on pain meds, and I didn't bother taking it back. He was really understanding. He's still one of my best friends, even now."

 

Ryan debated asking for Greg's version of 'now', but decided that when Greg wanted to tell him, he would. Ryan put the chair back where it belonged, leaning against the wall to watch Greg get dressed.

 

"I gotta go back to my place to change before work," he said. "Wanna come?"

 

***

 

Greg liked fish. He had a lot of them in his house, all brightly colored and active, looking about as healthy and happy as fish could look.

 

Ryan didn't ask if Greg wanted privacy to change. He just gave it to him. He sat on the sofa where Greg had indicated with a casual wave of his hand, probably not meaning that exact cushion but Ryan had pretended he meant it and took it.

 

The couch was low enough that his knees were bent and slightly higher than his waist, reminding him of the uncomfortable chair he'd sat in the day he'd given his resume to Horatio and been hired after a brief interview about his clean guns and shined shoes.

 

This was better, though. Greg's house was comfortable, soft cushions instead of a hard chair, the gentle murmur of aquarium filters instead of the chaos of the crime lab. Ryan knew that the chaos was a necessary side effect of the important job they did, but he appreciated the peace of this place, just like he appreciated the peace of the cafe Greg had shown him this morning.

 

It was peaceful to sit in place until Greg returned, dressed in another suit, one that attracted Ryan as much as Greg's asymmetry and his smile. All black, a mock turtleneck under a broad-shouldered jacket, adding lines and angles to Greg's naturally broad, curved shoulders, the simple geometry lending an air of professionalism to Greg's posture.

 

Ryan didn't know if Greg had more to do before he could leave, and Greg was making no move toward the door, so Ryan stayed put, straightening up a little as Greg approached the coffee table in front of him and sat down.

 

Greg asked permission, not with words, but with his eyes and his actions. Ryan didn't pull away.

 

Greg's hand shook as he lifted it to Ryan's face. Ryan tried not to flinch, not used to having someone else's hand so close to his eye while at the same time, he was glad Greg wanted to touch it. Turnabout was fair play, though Ryan had the feeling it wouldn't feel as good for him as the edges of Greg's scars felt to the other man.

 

The scar was actually too small for Greg's whole hand to fit over it. It was an odd feeling, actually; he couldn't decide whether or not he liked that he could feel the difference, warmth and texture and sensation where Greg's fingers brushed his bare skin, mere pressure where Greg's fingers brushed over his scar. Pressure, not pain, and Ryan remembered pushing, seeing if he could recreate the feeling of the nail in his eye. Masochistic, maybe, but he wanted the hole to be filled.

 

"Do you look at it in the mirror?" Greg asked, and Ryan nodded. "I used to stare at mine in the mirror. I used handheld mirrors at first, what I had, but eventually I bought a full-sized mirror. Two of them. I had one installed on the door of my bedroom, so I could pretend it was there for when I got dressed."

 

Ryan smiled. "You're talking more now than you have all day," he observed.

 

"Yeah, well." Greg smiled crookedly. "I babble when I get nervous."

 

Ryan mirrored the crooked grin. "You don't strike me as the nervous type."

 

"Not much makes me nervous."

 

"Hm." Ryan pulled his face away from Greg's hand slightly, putting his hand over Greg's to guide it to the side of his face. "What makes you nervous?"

 

"Authority figures," Greg said thoughtfully, "people who are smarter than me or cooler than me." He paused, then continued, "Hot ex-cops from Miami."

 

Ryan raised an eyebrow, pretending he wasn't blushing. "I'm not hot."

 

"Oh, but you are," Greg insisted, stroking his thumb over Ryan's cheekbone. Ryan leaned into the touch, not inclined to argue. "I have this theory that prevailing over tragedy adds character and beauty."

 

"Then you're more beautiful than me," he pointed out, because Greg's tragedy was greater than his. Greg just shook his head.

 

"The correlation isn't necessarily linear. There are discrete units of tragedy, each one contributing to different levels of character and beauty."

 

Ryan disagreed with a smile. "Not very discrete if getting shot with a nailgun is equal to your lab blowing up is equal to getting buried alive," he pointed out. Discrete units didn't seem like the right way to describe it.

 

"Boundary conditions, then," Greg murmured, then kissed him. It was the first kiss they shared while they were both conscious, and it came out of nowhere, although Ryan suspected it had been coming all along. "Thresholds."

 

"Okay," he murmured back, bringing his hands up to frame Greg's face as they kissed. They were about the same height standing, but with Ryan on the low couch and Greg on the higher, sturdier coffee table, Greg was a few inches above him. Ryan liked that.

 

They were secluded from the world, not so much as the sound of a car passing by interrupting their kiss. Just the bubbling filters in the background, easing Ryan into a state of relaxation that made the quickly-moving progress of their acquaintanceship seem more normal. Ryan had never had much of normal in his life, between OCD and chasing down suspects, but Greg made him feel normal. He hoped maybe he made Greg feel normal, too.

 

"I think," Greg breathed against his lips, "we should head to work. Don't wanna be late on your first night," he pointed out.

 

"Hm," Ryan agreed, stealing one more kiss from Greg's lips. There were more kisses on the way to the front door, but by the time they were in the car, they'd both managed to switch to more professional personas.

 

Ryan knew, however, that when the shift was over, all bets were off.

 

***


	5. Chapter 5  Comfort

  
Author's notes: It's a fine line between comfort and pleasure.  


* * *

Ryan wasn't sure why Warrick had warned him about being 'tested' on the first night. He shadowed a case with Sara Sidle and Nick Stokes, to see how it was done here in Vegas.

 

It was a little awkward finally meeting CSI Stokes. Nick. All he knew about the man was that he'd been a CSI for almost ten years, and that his kidnapping and live burial had been broadcast around the world. Everyone knew about it. It was so tempting to say something, just acknowledge what Nick had been through, say it had to have been rough on him, but that would be about as useful as when he'd said Greg's burn must've hurt. And he had a feeling that Nick wouldn't laugh the way Greg had.

 

So he stayed quiet, polite, the way he'd been raised to be a guest. For all intents and purposes, he was a guest here, at least until this new team of CSIs accepted him as one of their own. Ryan wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize his standing in their eyes; he would tag along, offer assistance when it was needed, and once he'd learned the ropes, he'd be ready to move out on his own. It would be like Miami, only different. It would be better.

 

They ran into Warrick on the way to the morgue, stopped to talk for a few minutes. Ryan couldn't help but look at him in a new light. Warrick had taken care of Greg after the explosion, and Greg had fallen for him. It wasn't unusual for a person to fall for his caretaker, and the fact that Warrick had taken it so well, not made Greg feel bad about it even though Warrick himself was straight, said a lot about Warrick's character. Ryan wanted to thank him for getting Greg through what was probably the worst time in his life. Not tonight, but sometime. He'd tell Warrick how much he appreciated what Warrick had done for Greg, just as soon as Ryan figured out how he could feel so strongly for someone so soon after having met him.

 

It was on Ryan's mind the whole night, sometimes in the back of his mind, sometimes in the forefront when they were waiting for results. He'd never met someone like Greg, someone who made him feel so comfortable in his own skin, someone so easy to talk to. Not even talking; communicating, with and without words, sharing smiles and laughs that seemed so rusty for both of them, and at the same time, so easily brought to the surface. Natural. Sincere. Something Ryan hadn't felt for months.

 

Which was why he was disappointed when he learned they were going to have stay longer than the usual shift. That meant Greg would be going home, and Ryan wouldn't have a chance to catch up with him and make plans for later. It was disappointing, but it was the job, and really, did he want to rush into anything with Greg? He knew it was just sour grapes talking, trying to convince himself that it wasn't a big deal that he was at work instead of with Greg, mostly scared of how much he did want to be with Greg just to hang out or talk or whatever when they'd only met a day before.

 

Watching the autopsy gave him extra time to think, though. Gave him a chance to think about what he really wanted with Greg. Friendship? Absolutely. More kissing? No doubt, but Ryan didn't think it would stop at kissing if it started. Just because he'd been in a sexually intense relationship as recently as a few months ago, did that mean it had to be about sex with Greg? He wanted there to be sex, eventually, but he wanted to go slow, too. Take his time, savor the slow build of getting to know Greg and through that, getting to know more of himself. Sex was great, but that wasn't his goal with Greg, or with anyone at this point.

 

He found himself thinking that he wanted a relationship with Greg, maybe similar to the one he'd had with Jeff, only different. Not as fast as it had been with Jeff, but the relationship had been the priority before the sex. The problem with Jeff was that he was too shallow; the only times he'd wanted to hear about Ryan's job was when it involved celebrities or pretty girls or guys on the beach. The way Jeff had twitched at his descriptions of the crimes they investigated should've been a big tipoff, but then, it was no surprise when Jeff couldn't deal with what the job had done to Ryan's face. Sometimes he thought it was too bad that Jeff had only seen it at its worst, in the hospital, when his face was bruised, when the hole was still visible. He wondered, if Jeff hadn't seen it until it had healed up, would that have made a difference?

 

But he knew he was better off. Knew he didn't need a boyfriend like Jeff who thought looks were more important than character. That had been Jeff's shallowness, and for a while, it had worked. Jeff had made him feel good about himself. But that had been shattered with a nailgun, and Ryan knew it was for the best. Just like Greg had learned who his true friends were, a coworker who'd cared for him compared to a boyfriend who couldn't deal with the scars. They all had scars, but somehow it was always the visible ones that caused the most trouble.

 

He peeked into Greg's lab on the way out, just to see if Greg was still there. He wasn't. Ryan bit back a sigh of disappointment, waving to the lab tech who looked up and saw him at that moment, then made his way briskly to the parking lot, pulling out his cell to check his voicemail. A message from Greg assured him that he was welcome at Greg's after work, and Greg had even left directions in case Ryan had forgotten where it was. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty on Greg's part; the invitation wasn't conditional, wasn't 'if you want to', it was given in a tone that implied that his desire to go to Greg's was a given.

 

And it was. Ryan was really glad he wasn't the only one feeling so confident about the connection between them. He knew the difference between a friendly invitation and a booty call, and while he wouldn't have protested to a booty call from Greg, he was thrilled that Greg seemed to want to take it slow, too. Of course Greg wanted to take it slow; he hadn't been in a relationship for two and a half years. There had been the part in the most distant months of that unwanted celibacy during which Greg had fallen for Warrick, but since Warrick hadn't reciprocated, it had been a one-sided interest. Given how friendly Warrick still seemed toward Greg, and how tolerant he was of Greg's sullen mood, their friendship was still intact.

 

Maybe Ryan could talk to Warrick sometime, try to figure out what it was that had made Greg's face so blank, Greg's voice so dull. Greg had been a completely different person at his house; not at the cafe, where Greg had still been dull until they'd started talking, and even then he'd been... suppressed. Ryan wasn't sure how to explain it exactly, the way the spark had been gone from Greg's eyes, the way his motions had been so deliberate until he shivered involuntarily under Ryan's touch. It hadn't even been a sexual touch, but the sensitivity of Greg's skin around the edges of his scars made it feel good for him. Ryan looked forward to doing that again.

 

***

 

The doorknob twisted easily in his hand, the door giving way with the slightest amount of pressure. Music wafted through the front room, a mellow, rhythmic beat that, combined with the lyrics, reminded Ryan of slipping into bed after a long day's work.

 

Most of the music Ryan heard these days, whether it was on the radio or at a crime scene, was so fast-paced that he couldn't pick up the lyrics on first pass. This music was different, seductively lazy, or maybe it was the words being sung in Greg's voice, the way Greg's body was swaying to the beat in the living room, luring him closer.

 

Greg's arms were out to the side a little, as if he couldn't help it, head tilted back, lips forming around the words as he joined the male voice coming from the sound system. In the comfort of my dreams I resign myself to you, dream as I might, I'm sleeping when I'm blue... Greg seemed to know Ryan was there, because he opened his eyes and rested them on Ryan with perfect accuracy. Such a pleasure when I feel myself go under, so stay away, stay away while I'm in the arms of slumber.

 

Greg's arms spread open more, in invitation this time, in contrast to the lyrics he was singing. The expression on Greg's face didn't change, not visibly, anyway, but Ryan could still see the welcome there.

 

It was an odd way to be welcomed into someone's home, but Ryan knew Greg wasn't like anyone he'd ever met before. Greg was so comfortable with him, and somehow, Ryan knew Greg wasn't like this for just anyone. Greg was allowing Ryan to see this, maybe even showing him to try to show him something else, and if Greg hadn't wanted him to see he wouldn't. This was just for him.

 

Egoistic, of course. But it was nice to believe, and nicer to support his theory with the memory of being the first to touch Greg's healed scars.

 

It was a good pickup technique, actually, if Greg was that kind of guy, and Ryan suspected he wasn't. There was a risk in using disfiguring scars as a way to lure a lay, a risk that came in the form of looks of disgust, and more rejection than success. Of course, if Greg wanted to use his scars to get guys, he wouldn't have hidden them under layers of fabric.

 

Ryan suspected that if it weren't for his own highly visible scar, Greg wouldn't have been comfortable showing Ryan his. A happy accident, that.

 

Try as he might, Ryan couldn't move as effortlessly as Greg did. He'd never been a dancer, never been able to let himself go, but Greg didn't make fun, just smiled microscopically and encouraged Ryan with the open look in his eyes. Ryan stood woodenly just a few inches from Greg, who was still swaying, unselfconscious and free. He'd done this to Greg. He'd given Greg the ability to trust him with this.

 

Greg was dancing for him, only for him. For himself, too, but Ryan got the feeling this was how Greg danced when he was alone, unfettered by expectations and judgmental eyes. His black suit was gone, replaced by an olive-green pajama set, loose-fitting cotton bottoms whose ankles brushed the tops of Greg's feet, and a long-sleeved v-neck cotton top that revealed the tempting vee of Greg's collarbone.

 

With Greg dancing for him like this, so close, head tilted back, just inches from Ryan, he couldn't resist. He moved in increments, lowering his head slowly to Greg's neck so Greg could smoothly reject his kiss if he wanted without interrupting the gentle rhythm of his dance. Rejection wasn't forthcoming, just a slight exhale as the instrumental was joined by words again.

 

He could feel the vibrations in Greg's throat as he brushed soft kisses over Greg's collarbone, tasting almost as good as Greg's lips had tasted last night. The magic of sweet Morpheus, you're doing it once again, you saved me from my sadness, you saved me from my pain. Greg's arms came down to encircle his waist, molding their hips together to show Ryan the rhythm of the dance. It was easy once he relaxed, allowed Greg to guide him, brushed his lips over the sturdy line of Greg's left collarbone, then switched to the other side to give both sides equal treatment. Protect me from depression, protect me one more night, and I'll be all right...

 

Ryan had the feeling this wasn't the music Warrick had felt the need to warn about. This music matched Greg's mood, somewhere between heavy and light, the beat steady and reassuring. The words left Greg's lips in a sigh, and he stopped singing. Ryan could tell his mouth was still open, though, because he recognized that pattern of breathing, that hitch of breath when Ryan's lips reached the edge of the scar curling up around the side of Greg's neck.

 

He hadn't meant to kiss there, hadn't even realized how much progress his lips had made, but now that he was there, he wasn't leaving, not with the way Greg was straining into his arms. Ryan wrapped his arms around Greg's lower back, holding him close, holding him steady as he kept kissing the scar, around the edge, into the center and back to the edge again. Greg wasn't swaying or dancing anymore, he was just arching his head back and silently asking for more, so Ryan kept kissing him. Kissing him and holding him tight, their bodies flush against each others' and when Ryan tasted the edge of the scar with a swipe of his tongue, Greg hiccuped on an inhale and then leaned more heavily in Ryan's arms. He was barely standing anymore, just supporting himself on Ryan's weight.

 

He wasn't hard anymore, either. Ryan noticed that first, the lack of uneven pressure against his thigh. Ryan was still hard, but Greg wasn't. And pretty soon he could feel the moisture of Greg's orgasm soaking into the fabric of his slacks, Greg's cotton pajama bottoms providing the slightest of barriers. Humbled, Ryan held Greg in his arms, kissing his neck and then up to his lips. Greg accepted the kiss enthusiastically, devouring Ryan's mouth; kissing him hungrily. Ryan was hard, but he wasn't anywhere near orgasm, and he found he didn't care.

 

"Where's bed?" he asked quietly, and Greg answered with actions instead of words, slipping his arm around Ryan's waist and leading him silently to the bedroom. Greg pressed him to the bed with the simple pressure of a hand against Ryan's chest, leaving Ryan sitting there as he continued onto another door on the other side of the bed. Ryan watched curiously, barely figuring out that it was a bathroom when Greg came out a few seconds later, stained pants gone and replaced with a pair of gray boxers. Interesting; Greg was modest, but not shy or embarrassed.

 

Greg sat down beside him, the way he had when he'd let Ryan touch his scars for the first time, and reached for Ryan's tie. Oh. He considered saying he could do it himself, or helping, but Greg was so intent on his task that Ryan didn't want to interrupt him. He didn't even say anything when Greg dropped his tie carelessly on the floor.

 

He squirmed at the thought of Greg dropping his suit jacket on the floor like that, but Greg preempted his discomfort by draping the jacket over a chair, followed by the tie and the shirt. His shoes were lined up under the chair, then his slacks and socks were removed, leaving him in his undershirt and boxers.

 

When Greg turned around from folding his slacks over the chair, Ryan wrapped his arms around Greg's waist and tugged him down the bed. Greg laughed delightedly, his arms coming up to loop around Ryan's neck. Incredible how they'd managed all this with only two words.

 

Considering he'd only caused Greg's orgasm accidentally, Ryan wasn't about to ask for anything from Greg. He didn't want it, not yet. They were taking it slow, and he wanted the first time Greg made him come to be as much of a surprise as Greg's orgasm had been, silent and unexpected and perfect.

 

"Sleep," he murmured against Greg's lips, his third word of the morning. Greg agreed with a smile in his eyes. He didn't protest, didn't push. Maybe he understood that Ryan wanted to take it slow. Greg probably needed to take it slow himself.

 

They snuggled under the covers together, winding their legs and arms around each other like they'd known each other forever instead of just one day. It was just like yesterday, only better. Ryan drifted asleep easily, feeling unaccountably safe and secure in Greg's arms.

 

***


End file.
